Draco scowled at his reflection in the large, ornate mirror as he tried, repeatedly, to arrange his bow tie. “Remind me again why I agreed to let you organise this?”

Pansy gave a soft snort, and turned from her seat at the nearby dressing table to face her friend.

“Agreed? Draco, you sulked, threw tantrums, and resorted to some very unpleasant emotional blackmail, all in the name of getting me to throw this party for you.” She got to her feet and crossed the short distance between them. “And you did it,” she continued, “because you didn’t want to look even more of a narcissistic prat than you already do.”

Draco huffed loudly, but made no protest as Pansy batted his hands away and settled the bow tie herself.

“Stupid Muggle clothes,” Draco muttered. “I don’t see what’s wrong with wearing dress robes.”

“Nothing’s wrong with them,” Pansy replied, checking her own reflection at the same time. “But we need to be seen to be moving with the times. Plus,” she paused here and ran an appraising eye over her friend’s body, “this is certainly more form-flattering than those shapeless robes.”

“This isn’t what I wanted, though,” Draco whinged, just a touch petulantly. “I wanted a select, sophisticated dinner party, not a night of drunken carousing surrounded by inebriated Hufflepuffs.”

“Sophisticated?” Pansy repeated incredulously. “Draco, you wanted to serve them snails.”

“Escargot,” Draco corrected primly. “And they’re considered to be a delicacy.”

“Doesn’t matter what you call them,” Pansy retorted. “It still amounts to the same thing, and there’s no way I’m putting one of those slimy things in my mouth.”

“If only you’d been so particular back in school,” Draco commented, giving his friend a sly look. “Maybe then you wouldn’t have quite the reputation that you do.”

Pansy made no reply to this as Draco took her arm and headed for the door. However, they had made it only a few feet before he was yelping loudly, and clutching his left buttock in response to Pansy’s well-aimed Stinging Hex.

“Bitch,” Draco accused.

“Indeed,” Pansy agreed airily. “It’s one of the reasons you love me so much.”

Draco made a dismissive noise and led the way towards the Manor’s grand staircase. “I trust there will be presents waiting for me? Good presents, that is.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Of course. As per your strict instructions, I registered you at Flourish and Blotts, Twilfit and Tattings, Madam Primpernelles,” Pansy couldn’t help the slight smirk that crossed her lips at the name of the last shop; really, Draco was worse than any woman when it came to vanity, “Oh, and Honeydukes,” she finished.

Draco grinned in satisfaction at this last; he had an impossibly sweet tooth.

*

As they descended the staircase, the sound of the band striking up reached their ears. But not even the prospect of the Weird Sisters playing his party could soothe Draco’s irritation.

“They might have waiting until I arrived,” he complained. “See, this is what comes from inviting non-Slytherins; they have no concept of etiquette.”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Draco, most of those people are friends or colleagues of yours. And anyway, it’s gone quarter past already; we’re late.”

“Fashionably late,” Draco amended, before coming to a halt on the bottom step. “Pansy,” he began, his voice slightly higher than usual -- which was never a good sign. “Would you mind telling me what the hell Harry bloody Potter is doing here?”

“Happy Birthday,” Pansy replied, a lot more casually than she felt.

Draco turned to face her, his grip tightening on her arm. “You got me Potter for my birthday?” he demanded incredulously.

“Surprise,” Pansy replied weakly, silently cursing Blaise and his big ideas.

Draco turned his gaze back to where Potter stood, surprisingly in deep conversation with Theo Nott, and took a moment to appreciate the flattering cut of his suit. Reluctantly, he turned his gaze back to Pansy, who was watching him with an amused expression.

“We will discuss your present-buying skills later, and in some depth,” he warned, unable to stop his eyes flicking back to Potter’s arse in those snug, black trousers. “However, I may be persuaded to forgive you, this once.”

Pansy smirked slightly, but made no further comment as they followed Potter and Theo into the ballroom. She even resisted the temptation to remark on the way Draco’s eyes lingered on a certain part of the Boy Who Lived’s anatomy.

Once inside the ballroom, Draco was forced to admit, albeit grudgingly, that Pansy had done a wonderful job. His approval lasted right up until the moment he noticed a certain group of guests on the dance floor.

“Pansy,” he hissed in outrage. “There are Gryffindors here!” His grey eyes narrowed in the direction of Ron Weasley’s flaming hair. “I did not approve this guest list.”

“There were a few last minute additions,” Blaise said blithely, appearing out of nowhere and kissing his grateful girlfriend. “Potter was hardly going to come as the lone Gryffindor, was he?”

“I wasn’t aware this party was for Scarhead,” Draco snapped. “And, anyway, why would I care if he came or not?”

Blaise snagged a glass of champagne off a passing waiter and promptly drained it. He gazed at his best friend with an almost pitying expression.

“Draco, you’ve been playing the denial card since Hogwarts; it’s getting a bit old now.”

Draco bristled noticeably and Pansy trod heavily on her boyfriend’s foot in warning. But Blaise had clearly enjoyed several drinks and was warming to his subject.

“You want him, and he, inexplicably, wants you. You know it, I know it, even the bloody house-elves at Hogwarts had their suspicions. Now, for the love of Merlin, put us all out of our misery, and just shag him, already.”

Draco was clearly struck dumb by his friend’s outburst, and Pansy used that opportunity to shoo Blaise in the opposite direction before the inevitable outburst occurred.

“Well,” Draco said finally, once he had regained his composure. “You’re boyfriend is clearly insane. I mean…Potter?”

Pansy made a noncommittal noise, realising it was pointless trying to reason with her friend when he was in this kind of mood. “C’mon.” She tugged on his sleeve. “Let’s go check out the present table.”

Draco allowed himself to be distracted by Pansy’s suggestion, but mentally chalked up a black mark against Blaise’s name; his retribution would be swift and terrible.

But first…presents.

His eyes widened in wonder as they took in the sight of the table that fairly groaned under an abundance of brightly wrapped parcels. Maybe there was something to be said for large parties, after all.

Just as he was about to fall on them in a most un-Malfoy like display of childlike glee, Draco stilled, and his nose twitched slightly. “What is that smell?”

Pansy sniffed, with slightly less refinement. The only thing that assaulted her nostrils was the Weird Sisters’ excessive use of dry ice.

Suddenly, Draco let out the most delicate of sneezes, and the startled expression on his face reminded Pansy keenly of her new kitten. She refrained, however, from pointing this out. She knew from past experience that her friend didn’t take kindly to any furry animal references. Blaise swore it was a hangover from the whole ferret incident in their fourth year.

“Lilacs,” he said finally, in a tone that Pansy recognised as the one her mother used for the word ‘Muggle’.

Draco’s eyes narrowed in the direction of an enormous flower arrangement which was somewhat obscured by the mountain of presents. Pansy rolled her eyes and prepared herself for the forthcoming dramatics.

“Lilacs?” Draco repeated, his tone dripping with scorn. “Merlin, Pans, why didn’t you just order carnations and be done with it?”

“They were your mother’s idea,” Pansy retorted, prickling slightly under the criticism.

“My mother lives to torment me -- you know this. It’s probably her idea of a good joke.”

“I think they’re pretty,” a soft voice said from behind them, thus earning Pansy’s undying gratitude.

Draco spun on his heel and found himself face to face with Harry Potter, who was currently giving them a tentative smile.

“Yes, well, Potter, that’s because the highlight of your social calendar is Sunday lunch at the Weasel’s. I doubt you’d know an orchid from a stinkweed.”

Pansy administered a sharp nudge to his ribs and favoured him with baleful glare. She then turned her attention to the newcomer, who’s smile had faltered somewhat.

“Please ignore my friend, Harry,” she said in a tone that had Draco’s eyes widening in surprise. “So glad you could make it,” she continued, leaning in and air-kissing Harry in a way that left high spots of colour on both his cheeks.

“I wouldn’t have missed it,” Harry replied sincerely, and Pansy didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered to Draco as he spoke. They were so obvious, and unbelievably clueless, she mused.

“Was there something you wanted, Potter?” Draco asked archly.

Harry just smiled, ignoring the Birthday Boy’s provoking tone. “I just wanted to come over and thank you for the invitation.” He paused and delved deep in his pocket, producing a small, flat parcel. “And to drop this off,” he continued, reaching behind Draco to place the gift with the others.

When Harry still made no effort to leave and just stood, hands clasped behind his back, gazing at him softly, it was too much for Draco to bear.

“What?” he demanded, making no effort to hide his annoyance.

Harry raked one hand distractedly through his already tousled hair. “I just wondered if maybe you would like to dance? With me, that is.”

Draco froze for a moment, his expression hovering somewhere between shocked, and appalled. “Are you crazy?” he demanded, his voice a touch higher than usual. “There are people here.”

If Pansy thought this was a strange objection, she wasn’t saying anything. Harry merely frowned slightly, causing a tiny crease to appear between his dark brows.

“So?” he asked gently.

“They’ll see.” Draco’s voice was almost a squeak now, and Pansy was watching the interaction with keen interest.

Harry continued to frown, but the faintest of smiles was curving his lips.

“Let me clarify, Potter.” Draco’s voice finally regained its usual pitch. “I do not want to dance with you. Not now, not never. Not even if you were the last man left on this god forsaken planet.”

The smile froze on Harry’s face and his vivid eyes glinted with suppressed anger. Nodding his farewell to Pansy, he turned on his heel and stalked away without a further glance in Draco’s direction.

Pansy watched, stunned, before turning to her friend. “You idiot,” she said harshly, but with pity in her voice.

“What?” Draco prickled defensively.

Pansy shook her head sadly. “You do know what denial is, don’t you?”

Draco remained silent for a moment before a slow smirk spread over his face. “I do believe,” he began, a touch smugly, “that it’s a river in Egypt.”

Pansy’s annoyance was momentarily stilled by her confusion. “What?”

Draco resisted the strong temptation to roll his eyes, and reflected that maybe there was something to be said for Muggleborns after all. At least they would appreciate his jokes.

“Never mind,” he muttered eventually, turning towards the present table. “I think it’s time to start opening these.”

Pansy placed a stilling hand on his arm. “Not before you’ve apologised to Harry. You were incredibly rude to him.”

“And since when has he been Harry? You used to hate him as much as I do.” Draco tried to shake Pansy’s hand off, but she was much stronger than she looked.

“Yes, when we were still at school. But Hogwarts is a long time ago, now. Some of us have moved on since then.”

“Is Blaise aware of your new-found obsession with Potter? I’m sure he’d be very interested to hear about it.”

Pansy tugged sharply on her friend’s arm, pulling him round to face her. “It was Blaise’s idea to invite him.”

Draco stared at her thoughtfully for a moment, as if trying to discern the truth of this statement. Finally, he fixed her with a patented Malfoy glare. “Whatever,” he huffed. “It’s nice to know I have such loyal friends.”

Pansy relaxed her grip slightly. “Don’t sulk, Draco, you’ll spoil the evening. Besides, it’s not a good look on you.”

Draco gave his friend a slightly condescending smile. “Yes, well, it’s my party, and I’ll sulk if I want to.”

Pansy paused for a moment, before shaking her head. “Fine. If that’s what you want. But you’ll do it alone.”

*

Some time, and numerous drinks later, it occurred to Draco that alienating his best friends so early in the evening, hadn’t been the wisest of moves. Because really, where was the fun in observing his guests making fools of themselves if Pansy wasn’t there to appreciate his biting comments and chip in a few caustic remarks of her own?

Left alone, Draco had retreated to the bar and passed a pleasant half hour flirting harmlessly with the tolerably handsome barman. However, this interlude had ended on a sour note when the young man had begged Draco for an introduction to the Boy Who Lived!

Draco had then moved on to join Crabbe and Goyle at their table, but it turned out that Goyle was more interested in licking Millicent Bulstrode’s tonsils, and Crabbe, well, he had never been much of a conversationalist. Unless you were inclined to discuss the relative merits of various sandwich fillings.

Not willing to approach either Blaise or Pansy at this point, Draco had returned to propping up the bar, whilst treating the barman to an effective cold shoulder. Scanning the crowd with narrowed eyes, Draco’s mood only darkened further as he took note of all the happy couples spilling onto the dance floor.

It really wasn’t fair, he raged internally. It was his birthday, and yet he was the only one at the party who didn’t seem to be having a good time. Draco scowled as he watched his guests: the Weasel attempting to waltz Granger around the room, Longbottom doing his blundering best to cripple poor Hannah Abbott, Goyle and Bulstrode, who were surprisingly light on their feet, considering their sizeable bulk, and finally, there was Crabbe, who appeared to be partnering Hagrid’s slightly less-attractive sister!

As if all this wasn’t enough to sour Draco’s mood, the sight of Harry Potter being squired around the dance floor by Justin Finch-Fletchley suddenly assaulted him. His stomach lurched sickeningly as he watched them, bodies pressed close together, seemingly staring lovingly into each other’s eyes.

Draco turned to the bar and harshly demanded a large Firewhisky. He downed it in one go, and then slammed the glass back on the bar forcefully. As his throat burned fiercely and his eyes watered slightly due to the choking, Draco was vividly reminded of why he didn’t usually partake of that particular drink.

However, it had provided him with the necessary courage for his next course of action. Giving his reflection the once over in the bar’s mirrored back wall, Draco adjusted his bow tie, tugged his jacket straight, and smoothed a few wayward hairs into place.

Before common sense took hold, Draco strode purposefully across the room and onto the dance floor, until he was standing right next to Potter and his partner. Tapping Finch-Fletchley on the shoulder, he gave the man a sickly sweet smile.

“So sorry to cut in, but I need to steal Potter away from you. You don’t mind, do you? Birthday Boy’s privilege, and all that.”

Finch-Fletchley was clearly too bemused by Draco’s request to put up much of a protest. He simply stepped away and made a motioning gesture towards Harry.

Needing no further encouragement, Draco stepped forward and promptly slid his hands into position on Harry’s torso. Harry’s body stiffened slightly under the touch, and Draco could see that he was clenching his jaw, but as no actual protest was forthcoming, he began leading his partner efficiently round the floor.

Draco leant in, feeling the faint tickle of his partner’s soft hair against his cheek. Resisting the almost overwhelming temptation to nuzzle, he placed his lips next to Harry’s ear.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” he whispered. “You know I didn’t mean it, don’t you?”

Harry didn’t reply, and when Draco pulled back slightly he could see his partner’s lips were set in a thin line.

“I didn’t,” Draco repeated earnestly. “I promise. But what were you thinking accepting Pansy’s invitation?”

Harry’s grip on Draco tightened slightly, blunt fingertips digging into his soft flesh, and his tone had a bitter edge. “I was thinking that it might be nice to spend some time with my boyfriend in public, rather than meeting in seedy Muggle hotel rooms, and pretending that we still hate each other.”

“But we agreed,” Draco protested.

“No, Draco, you agreed, and I just went along with it. But I’ve had enough.”

Draco pulled back slightly and his grey eyes widened in worry. Over Harry’s shoulder, he could see both Blaise and Pansy watching their interaction intently, and he suddenly became very aware of their public location. “I explained to you why we needed to keep it secret, and you said you understood.”

“I know I did,” Harry agreed, sounding suddenly tired. “But those reasons don’t hold up anymore.”

“My friends--” Draco began.

“Have been trying to set us up for the last month,” Harry countered. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?”

“Well, the Weasel-”

“Has known I fancied you since sixth year at Hogwarts.” Harry gave a tiny smile before pulling Draco in closer again.

“There’s still my mother,” Draco argued, feeling his resolve weaken as Harry nuzzled the sensitive skin of his neck. “Stop it. That’s cheating,” he protested half-heartedly.

Harry gave a throaty chuckle before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his throat. “Draco, your mother loves me. We’ve been having afternoon tea together every Friday for the last two months.”

“Oh.” Draco felt slightly light-headed. A combination of Firewhisky, too many shocks, and Harry’s lips on his neck were clouding his ability to think straight. He wriggled uncomfortably, but stilled instantly when he felt something thick and hard digging into his hip. Pressing against it experimentally, he felt a muffled groan vibrate against his skin.

“Are you…Is that…?” Draco couldn’t quite manage to complete his sentence, such was his distraction.

“Your birthday present,” Harry replied huskily.

“Cheapskate,” Draco accused lightly, pressing closer still against his partner.

“Well,” Harry reasoned. “I had to get you something you couldn’t take back and exchange.”

“And what makes you so sure I won’t?” Draco asked loftily.

“This,” Harry replied simply, sliding one hand down Draco’s torso until it cupped his growing erection.

Draco moaned softly and automatically thrust against the delicious pressure. Then, he made the mistake of opening his eyes, and found that the best part of the room was standing stock-still, watching them.

“Harry,” he whispered, trying to hide his face against his boyfriend’s neck. “Everyone’s looking.”

Harry opened his eyes, and the first person he spotted was Narcissa Malfoy, who was nodding approvingly at him. He grinned in response, before turning his attention back to his blushing partner. “They don’t seem that surprised,” he reasoned.

“Apparently it’s no big secret,” Draco muttered. “According to Blaise, even the house-elves have been gossiping about us.”

Harry let out a soft snicker. “That’ll be Dobby. He does take a rather unhealthy interest in my love life.”

Draco shuddered slightly. “That’s just disturbing. He always was a perverted little creature.”

“I take it we’re not hiding anymore, then?” Harry enquired, a hopeful note in his voice.

“It would be a little hard to go on denying it,” Draco replied.

“Maybe we should kiss, just so there’s no doubt that we‘re together?”

Draco slid his arms around Harry’s neck, threading his fingers through the short hair at his nape. He leaned in so close that their lips were a hair’s breadth apart. “I rather think the fact you’re holding my cock will take care of that.”

fin